Purity of Love

It’s hot in here. Too hot. My hands are sweaty. I can see the humidity resting on them as the bathroom neon shines its ruthless light. Looking up, I make eye-contact with myself. A mess. An absolute mess. I never should have accepted his invitation to dinner. But come, I remember him saying, please I just need to talk to you. I love you. Give me just another chance, please, we’ll just have dinner. Yes, yes I’ll stay calm. Yes, I promise. Eventually, I caved in. I’m the one who broke up with him after all. I guess I owe him some kind of explanation. God, it’s way too hot. He’s probably waiting for me, sipping the Barolo 2019 the waiter brought us before my sudden need to go to the bathroom. I’m just gonna wash my hands. Yes, of course I’m coming back. No, I will not leave, not without saying goodbye, not again. I hate him. My mouth makes a repulsing grimace, I look like a kid about to burst into tears because he dropped his teddy on the ground. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I can feel my throat tightening, my face is now covered with my sweaty hands, makeup ruined, mascara everywhere except on my lashes. I’ve been gone too long now. He’s going to notice, he’s good at that. Where were you? Why? I called your office, he told me a month ago, they said you left around 5. But you arrived home at 8. Why? Was it him again? Tell me the truth, or I swear to God I’ll unleash hell. Tell me! Fuck. My brain is playing with me tonight. I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry. These words echo in my mind, resonate like the sound of a bell through a catholic city at noon. They bounce around, torturing every neuron, sliding around every nerve of my being, wrapping tight around my bones, too tight, they’re gonna break. He’s destroying me. I’m rotting from the inside, it’s starting to show. I try readjusting myself, wiping the makeup covering my under-eyes and cheeks. Did you cry in there? Baby what happened? Is it me? No, he won’t say that. He would have, but not anymore. Rewind. Did you cry in there? Fuck, you look like hell, come, let’s get you home. Yes, that’s it. The concern first, so people can hear, can witness, he cared about me for a second. Then, the insult, generally said in a way no one would notice it to be abuse, covered with a gentle smile, a hand reaching for mine with loving eyes gazing at me, through me. But from my point of view, the devil will be hiding in there, peeking behind his pupils, saying hi to me with its cheeky smile. Fuck. I’m knee-deep. I try finger-brushing my hair, but it still hurts. My scalp is still healing, I wince with every motion. He’s going to kill me one day. I know it. I’m going to take off my sweater, put it in my bag, wear only my shirt. I’m sick of hiding. Maybe people will finally see. But what if he goes away? For good? I love him. But do I? Should I put back my sweater? Fuck. Fuck! I throw my sweater on the floor, revealing…it. Him, through me. His work, on me. Everything hurts. Someone is knocking on the door. There’s someone in there! Baby, it’s me, are you okay? My heart skips a beat. I don’t have time to answer as the door bursts open and closes as soon as he is inside. What the fuck are you doing? There it is, the vein on his forehead, ready to burst. His eyes are red, he probably had time to finish the bottle. Put the sweater back on, Anna. Tonight is about forgiveness, we talked about it. He bends and grabs the sweater before putting it on the bathroom counter. We stay silent for a minute. I’ve gone mute. My eyes are dry from not blinking. It feels as though I have entered some sort of survival mode. I can’t move. He’s looking at me with that familiar disgust. But there’s something else in there. Some kind of spark, one that shone once or twice in our relationship. The first time we saw each other, and the last time he cut me. That excitement. My heart is speeding. It’s still beating. Terror, beat, love, beat, terror, love, terrorloveterrorlove beat terrorloveloveterror beat. Say something. I’m sorry. Don’t be, baby. Not on Valentine’s Day. We’ll take care of this tomorrow. Tonight… is only about us. You still love me don’t you? Yes, I say. Too fast. I hate him. I hate myself. And I love you too. See, we’re meant to be together. Don’t ever break up with me again Anna. I’m serious, I can’t lose you. I can blink now, a wave of relief hitting me, washing over my fear. He loves me. Of course he does. He just shows it differently. I’m gonna change, I promise. Now, put your sweater back on before people see you. They would not understand. He’s right. He’s always right. He’s always been right. The thing is, my body doesn’t want to move. He looks pissed. My arms are still covering my chest, my legs anchored to the ground, rooted to the bathroom tiles. My brain is yelling at me to move, but nothing is working. Anna, now. Put on your sweater and let’s go back. People are gonna wonder what we’re doing. I can’t, I exhale. The fuck you mean you can’t? Put on the sweater! Run. Run. Run. I don’t have time to act on it. Run. But he’s too fast. Run. He’ll catch me. Run! And so I run. I give the impulse to my legs, tearing them from the ground, ripping them from these doomed tiles. But he’s fast. Too fast. He grabs me by the hair, throwing me on the ground. I can hear the music outside, it’s definitely covering whatever noise I just made. My vision is blurry from the pain. I feel tears sliding down to my ears as I’m laying there, hands on my head, covering the mess, trying to absorb the agony. You gave me no choice baby. I really tried to be nice, fuck I ordered you the Barolo. You didn’t even sip it, fucking ungrateful that’s what you are. I’m weeping now, he’s towering over me. It hurts. Yes I know Anna, but you’ll be fine. Stop crying for God’s sake. I can’t. Stop! Hey, is everyone okay in there? Salvation. Yes! He answers. Yeah, we’ll be out in a second. In this moment, in this said second, I see. I see. And so, I yell. The loudest my throat allows me to. A scream so shrill yet so deep, a cry that could only indicate death to come. Call the police, I hear from behind the door. Everything is moving. Finally. Fuck, fuck, fuck!! You fucked everything up Anna. I know what is about to happen. As he pulls out his favorite tool from his washed-up jeans, I feel my soul hugging me tight one last time. She’s leaving her home, her vessel. It’s time to go now. What I’m about to do, it’s the purest act of love. It’s showing you to the world as vulnerable as one can be. I love you Anna. We won’t be forgotten. He’s cutting off my remaining clothes, starting by my favorite skirt. After that, I can only see myself from up there. From this other plan, the one between life and death. I’m not Anna anymore. She is down there, skin cut, scalped. It doesn’t hurt anymore. The body he’s flaying is not mine anymore. Was it ever? We did it, Anna. Here you are. He’s carrying me out. I emerge as pure as I ever was. This… is love.